


Overlay

by sinestrated



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 23:45:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinestrated/pseuds/sinestrated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John says something stupid. Dorian pays the price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overlay

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt over at the AH Livejournal community's [Comment Fic Meme](http://almosthumantv.livejournal.com/22731.html?view=267723#t267723): _Dorian enjoys getting under John's skin. John goes to Rudy to ask if it's something that can be 'fixed' ;)_
> 
> Of course, me being me, I diverged completely from the prompt and loaded it with angst to boot. Oops?

John slams the car door shut and grimaces at the bullet holes dotting the black paint like a bad rash. “Goddamned gangbangers.”

Dorian chuckles, exiting the passenger side. “Hey, better it than you, right?”

He’s got a bullet hole of his own in his right cheek, purple tendons and wires glowing softly in the fading light. John has to admit, his partner taking the hit and spitting the bullet out without ever ceasing return fire was pretty badass.

…Not that he’s about to tell _Dorian_ that. “Speak for yourself, Terminator.”

Dorian’s processor lights flicker for a moment as he researches John’s reference. Then he smiles. “The protagonist of that series was also named John, you know,” he says as they make their way up the precinct’s front steps. “I suppose that means Detective Stahl is Kate?”

John sends him his best glare and opens his mouth, but it’s too late. Dorian’s eyes twinkle as he says, in Stahl’s voice, “You’re so dreamy, John. Let’s have babies and start a worldwide apocalypse filled with evil robots and AI masterminds.”

“I hate you,” John mutters, glancing surreptitiously around to see whether or not Stahl is within earshot—that’d be the perfect way to end an already shitty day.

Thankfully, she isn’t, and Dorian just chuckles. “Admit it, man. I grow on you.”

“Yeah, like a fucking tumor.”

“Ah…Dorian, is it?”

They both pause. The man standing before them now looks so young John doubts he’s out of college yet. Wearing a neat sweater-vest and thick-framed glasses, he’s about as incongruous in the middle of the precinct as John would be in that creepy-ass MX facility.

Dorian directs a raised eyebrow briefly at John before turning back to the new arrival. “Yes, that’s me. How can I help you?”

“Oh, good.” The man shifts his datapad and extends a hand. “I’m Luke Radford, Dr. Lom’s new intern? He said you’d need some, um, repairs.” His gaze keeps sliding over to the hole in Dorian’s cheek over and over, like he doesn’t want to stare but can’t help himself. John suppresses a grin. “Uh. I’m supposed to take you downstairs to run a diagnostic.”

“Oh.” Dorian nods. “Okay. That’s fine.”

“Great. I’ll meet you in the lab.”

“Hey,” John calls out, as Dorian starts making his way toward the elevator. “Weren’t we gonna go celebrate?”

Dorian turns just enough so John can see his smile. “Have a couple extra drinks for me,” he says. “See you tomorrow, John.”

Then he’s gone, and John can’t quite explain the rush of irritation at his plans with Dorian being so suddenly cancelled. With some effort, he shakes the feeling off. It’s been a long day.

Radford turns back to him and offers his datapad. “Your signature to authorize the repairs, Detective?”

“Huh? Oh, sure.” John takes the stylus, scribbles his name, and hands the datapad back.

Radford nods. “According to Dr. Lom, Dorian is also due for his biweekly software update,” he says. “I’ll take care of all the basic, necessary applications, of course, but…was there anything you wanted added? Or changed?”

John snorts. “Yeah, maybe you could delete his smartass subroutine,” he says.

“Excuse me?”

“Can _you_ imagine riding around all day with someone who insists on second-guessing you and barging into your personal life every chance he gets?” John shakes his head. “Bastard’ll be the death of me.”

Radford blinks. “Oh, I wasn’t aware the DRN was causing you so much trouble. I could—”

“John.” Maldonado’s beckoning from her office. “I need your debrief before you go.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Not giving Radford another thought, John heads toward the captain’s office.

 

The next morning, John very uncharacteristically makes it into the office two minutes early. Dorian, even more uncharacteristically, is already waiting by his desk. John can’t help it; he stares for a couple of seconds. “Uh. Morning.”

Dorian turns to face him, and something weird and uncomfortable slithers through John’s gut. His eyes, they…they’re not right. “Good morning, Detective.”

 _‘Detective?’ Uh oh._ John quickly cycles through their previous day, trying to remember if he said anything that might have offended Dorian, that might have motivated his partner to put some distance between them. He comes up empty. Weird.

Then Dorian speaks again. “You are here two-point-six minutes early, Detective, which is very unlike your usual pattern. Is everything all right?”

John barks out a laugh. “Oh, exact numbers now? Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” He sinks into his chair and brings up the day’s notes. “So what’s on the agenda?”

“A double homicide in east LA, and a missing persons report in the Anaheim area,” Dorian answers. “I have already uploaded the relevant details to your datapad.”

His voice is flat, completely toneless. John narrows his eyes. “Okay, spit it out.”

“Pardon, Detective?”

“And enough with the ‘Detective’ bullshit,” John snaps. Really, it’s way too fucking early in the morning for this. “What’re you playing at? Or are you seriously that pissed at me for something?”

Dorian tilts his head. “I assure you, Detective, my behavior is not inspired by any ulterior motives.”

His voice doesn’t change and his eyes are blank, no tells, no clues. John sets his jaw. Fine. If his partner wants to be an asshole today, two can play at that game.

“Whatever. Download the data you need and then meet me by the car.”

“Yes, Detective.”

Dorian goes. John glares at his retreating back. Whatever is up with Dorian, he’d better fix it by the time they get to their first crime scene, or there’s going to be another unfortunate freeway accident.

 

Hours later, it’s clear something is terribly wrong. Dorian hasn’t tried to make any sort of conversation beyond providing John with necessary details about the case. When they questioned the wife of one of the homicide victims, he didn’t even attempt to engage the distraught woman, instead firing question after blunt question until she burst into tears and John had to order him back to the car. After lunch, desperate, John even tried to bait Dorian by mentioning that he might call Detective Stahl for some updates on the case. Dorian’s response was, “Please utilize whatever sources of collateral information you deem relevant to the case, Detective.”

Something is up with his partner. And it isn’t until later that afternoon, when they’re engaged in a standoff with a half-crazed Anaheim man holding a gun to the head of his sixteen-year-old stepdaughter, that John discovers just how badly they’re fucked.

The house is an old one-story, its roof half-caved in and mold creeping up its peeling, off-white walls. The man, Harry Scottsfield, stands just inside the front door, madness glinting in his eyes as he holds up his human shield. “If any of you even think of approaching I’ll blow her fuckin’ head off!” he yells.

Crouched next to John and Dorian behind their squad car, Paul looks grim. “We’ve been at this for two hours and he hasn’t given any ground,” he says. “We’re running out of options here, Kennex.”

John nods and risks lifting his head over their metal protection long enough to lock eyes with the young blonde girl currently trapped in Scottsfield’s embrace, blue eyes wide and wet with terror. “Hannah? Stay calm, all right? It’s gonna be okay.”

Hannah squeezes her eyes shut and nods, but her entire body is trembling, and Scottsfield’s finger on the trigger of the gun pressed to her temple doesn’t look too steady. They’re running out of time.

Next to him, Dorian shifts. Blue flickers along the edge of his face. “Given the circumstances, I estimate the girl’s chance of surviving the next five minutes at 2.8%. With the employment of a suitable distraction, this estimate increases to 21.3%.”

Even Paul looks startled at the monotone delivery of the information. When the other detective looks at him, though, John just shakes his head. “Yeah, and who’s gonna be so gracious as to—hey! What’re you doing?”

He grabs Dorian by the shoulder, stopping his partner’s rise. Dorian only blinks at him. “As an android, I am built to endure multiple forms of trauma, including gunfire,” he says. “Therefore I am the most appropriate choice.”

“Are you crazy? What if he” – _kills you_ — “hits something vital, your motherboard or whatever? You’re not gonna leave me with one of those fucking MXs, are you?”

Dorian’s expression does not change. “The MX-43 is superior to my model in many ways,” he answers. “Partnering with one will likely increase your work efficiency considerably. But if you prefer another DRN unit, I am sure an arrangement can be made with Dr. Lom. Please stay here, Detectives.”

Then, before John can stop him or even say anything, he’s up and walking around the squad car. Scottsfield’s voice takes on an even more manic edge. “What the hell’re you doin’, you damn bot? You don’t scare me!”

Dorian stops a few steps away from the door. “Release your hostage,” he says. “It is the only way to guarantee your own survival.”

Paul shakes his head. “Told you all DRNs were crazy,” he mutters.

If he wasn’t so busy panicking over _what the hell was wrong with Dorian_ , John might hit him. As it stands, he just tightens his grip on his gun, keeping his gaze fixed on Dorian’s back. _Don’t do anything stupid,_ he thinks, desperately. _I was just beginning to like you…_

Scottsfield laughs, high-pitched and tinted with hysteria. “You’re all the same,” he hisses. “You, and the—the police, and the government! You think I don’t know what you’re up to? The poison you put in the water, and the toxic gases in the TV? I know! _I know!_ ”

“I believe you are suffering from what is professionally termed a psychotic episode,” Dorian says. “If you release the hostage and surrender your firearm, we will immediately obtain the appropriate mental health treatment.”

“I’m not going there!” Scottsfield shouts. “They won’t put anything in _my_ brain, oh no, I won’t let them! You—You can go to hell!” And then he brings his gun around, points it at Dorian, and fires.

The shot rings out, an explosion in the quiet of the afternoon. John can only stare as Dorian’s head snaps back, an instant before his partner’s limbs suddenly give out and he crumples to the floor.

Then another shot—Paul, taking advantage of the gun no longer trained on Hannah—and vaguely John registers Scottsfield’s cry of pain and Hannah’s scream but it’s only on the periphery of his awareness, everything else zeroed in on Dorian lying face-up on the ground, still, unmoving.

He’s by Dorian’s side without remembering how he got there, and something catches in his throat when he looks down at his partner. The force of the bullet’s entry flayed open half his newly-repaired cheek, and his right eye is nothing but a mess of sparks and sizzling wire. The left stares up at the sky, unseeing.

John swallows, barely aware of his fingers wrapping almost instinctively around his partner’s own. “Dorian?” he whispers.

Dorian blinks, eye still unfocused. “Yes, Detective,” he answers, and even though he’s still stuck on the ‘Detective’ crap, even though the slight slur at the end of the sentence sets off all sorts of alarm bells in John’s head, John still feels relief rush through his veins like fire.

“Thank fuck. Can you stand?”

“Not possible,” Dorian answers. “The bullet has disrupted wiring responsible for many of my primary functions, including voluntary movement.”

“Okay.” John glances up; Paul is comforting a sobbing Hannah as his MX partner cuffs a bleeding, cursing Scottsfield. They’ve got it covered. John has more important things to worry about right now. “Okay. I’ll call dispatch, get them to send Rudy over here and patch you up, okay?”

Dorian blinks again. “It is unnecessary to utilize the department’s resources in such a manner,” he answers. “My hardware, after all, is obsolete. The most logical course of action in this case is to decommission me and recycle the parts that are still usable.”

…And oh, that is fucking _it._ John’s voice trembles as he hisses, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I do not understand, Detec—”

“You’re acting like Max! Like a—like a _robot!_ ”

“That is, in fact, what I am, Detective. What—”

“ _Where the fuck are you, Dorian?_ ”

The force of the words has John gasping for breath, the rage warring with fear to create a churning in his gut, because this isn’t Dorian, this isn’t his partner who laughs and teases and _values his own fucking life_ —

Something abruptly changes in Dorian’s expression: a flicker of confusion, of genuine pain. His grip on John’s hand tightens minutely, and his single blue eye turns to fix John with a long stare, lost and…afraid?

“John,” Dorian whispers. “Help me.”

John blinks. “What?”

Another spasm of pain flickers across Dorian’s face. “I can’t—” And then his entire body jerks. Electric blue sparks dance across his face, emanating from the wound, and in the next instant Dorian gives a shudder, his eye falls shut, and he goes still.

“Shit.” And John doesn’t even think about it. Ignoring Paul’s confused shout, he hauls Dorian up, drags him over to the car, hurls him into the back, and books it for the station.

 

Radford looks like he’s about two seconds away from pissing himself. “I—I’m sorry, sir,” he stammers, shifting from foot to foot, “I just…I thought it was what you wanted, and I didn’t want to bother Dr. Lom about it, and—and—”

He looks on the verge of a legit panic attack. John can’t even bring himself to care. “And so you thought you’d just _erase_ all his DRN-specific programming? _Without telling anyone?_ ”

“I just wanted to help!” Radford squeaks. “I-I thought—”

“ _He almost died!_ ” John roars, and allows himself some vicious satisfaction at how Radford backs up against the wall like a cornered animal. “He could _still_ die, you fucking—”

“John, that’s enough,” Maldonado says, unflappable as usual. “It was an honest mistake. Let it go.”

“No!” John spins on her. “He’s my _partner_ , not some fucking toy for this kid to play with!”

“And I’m sure Mr. Radford has learned that lesson _quite well_ today,” Maldonado says, fixing the intern with a look John has only ever seen her direct at petty criminals and officers accused of sexual harassment. “It won’t happen again. Right?”

“Y-Yes, ma’am,” Radford whispers, shaking all over. “Of course not, ma’am.”

“Good. Thank you, Mr. Radford.”

She doesn’t even have to say another word; Radford bolts from the office like someone lit a fire under his ass. John shakes his head and turns back to Maldonado. “Captain—”

“I can’t fire him,” Maldonado says. “Technically speaking, he made a simple programming error, which isn’t nearly enough grounds for dismissal.”

John clenches his fist. “If Dorian dies…”

“He won’t,” Maldonado answers. The corner of her mouth quirks up just slightly. “Dorian’s always been way too stubborn for his own good, John. You and I both know that.”

John looks away. “You didn’t see it,” he murmurs. “You didn’t see…” _The way he looked at me. The pain it caused him, to have to be something he’s not._

Maldonado doesn’t answer immediately. When at last John looks back, he’s surprised to see the soft look in his captain’s eyes. He’s not sure what to make of it, or of Maldonado’s next words. “He’s important to you. Isn’t he, John?”

It catches him off guard, the funny feeling that rises in his stomach at her words. John clears his throat. “He’s my partner.”

“Yes, he is that.” If anything, Maldonado’s smile softens even more. “You’ve got the rest of the day off. Go down and check up on Rudy’s progress. I’m sure he could use the company.”

As he leaves the office and heads downstairs, John senses Maldonado’s gaze on his back and can’t help but feel like he’s just missed something important.

 

Rudy straightens up and wipes at his brow. “Well, all the physical damage is repaired,” he says, tapping the charge rod lightly against his palm. “For all intents and purposes, he’s ready.”

John looks down at Dorian, eyes empty and black with deactivation, and swallows. “And the…uh. Radford’s work?”

Rudy sighs. “Damned interns and their uppity need to please,” he mutters, turning to one of the many computer screens surrounding them. “I managed to either restore or reverse all the changes he made to Dorian’s source code. It was a bloody mess, but he should boot up back the way he was.”

John looks up. “Should?”

Rudy’s expression goes just this side of pained. “In cases like these, there’s always the possibility of error,” he says, softly. “The likelihood is small, but you need to be prepared for it. In case Dorian comes back…” He takes a breath. “…different.”

John nods, but doesn’t trust himself to say anything. Rudy must understand because he straightens his shoulders and hands John the rod. “Let me know how it goes,” he says, and walks out of the room without another word. John spares a moment of gratitude for the mercy.

Then it’s just him and Dorian, surrounded by the soft beeping and steady whir of the various machines in the lab. John looks down at his partner and takes a deep breath. _Please,_ he thinks, and he doesn’t know who he’s talking to, but he hopes they’re listening anyway. _Don’t take him away from me too._

He touches the rod to the node on the side of Dorian’s neck. Dorian jerks and inhales sharply, eyes shifting from endless black to their familiar, intense blue. John forces himself not to say anything as his partner rises to a sitting position, blinking around at the room for a moment before finally settling his gaze on him.

Then, very slowly, Dorian smiles. It’s small and a little unsure, but that doesn’t stop the mind-numbing relief from sweeping through John’s entire body.

“John,” Dorian says.

Schooling his expression takes a ridiculous amount of effort. “Hey, Dorian. Uh…how are you feeling?”

The smile fades from Dorian’s face as he looks down at his hands. “Okay, I guess,” he murmurs. “Considering.”

“Considering?”

Dorian takes a deep breath, but doesn’t meet John’s eyes. “When I woke up, after the diagnostic yesterday. I knew something was wrong.”

John swallows and forces himself not to answer as Dorian continues, “Something was _missing_. And I tried to…to figure out what it was, to get help, but it was like…”

He sighs, and it’s crazy but John swears he hears a tremor in Dorian’s words. “It had control. It walked around in my body and it spoke in my voice and it _wasn’t me,_ John. It was…a nightmare.” Another breath. “I tried to fight it. I wanted to scream, to call out, but it wouldn’t let me. It wouldn’t _let me._ ”

And John doesn’t know what does it, whether it’s the raw way Dorian tells about the experience, the way his voice cracks on the last word, or something else entirely, but he’s moving without thinking about it, wrapping his arms around his partner and pulling Dorian close. He feels Dorian stiffen in surprise at first, but in the next instant he relaxes and John feels the warm weight of a head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and for once in his life, he means it. “That was a pretty shitty thing you had to go through.”

Dorian sighs and says, “Yeah,” but doesn’t offer anything more.

“For what it’s worth, from now on I’m gonna be busting that kid’s balls every chance I get.”

That earns him a soft hum of amusement, warm against his shoulder. “Not sure the captain would appreciate that.”

“You kidding? Shoulda seen her earlier; she’s pissed. She’ll be right there with me.”

Dorian laughs at that. It’s soft, barely a whisper of expelled air, but it’s there, and John feels himself warm at the sound.

A moment later, Dorian’s voice drifts over to him again. “John,” he says. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

 “For bringing me back.”

John feels fingers curl into the edge of his jacket, and tightens his grip. “Anytime, partner.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Regarding translations:** All my works, including this one, can be translated without first asking my express permission. I ask only that you credit me as the original author and provide a link back to the original work. For anything other than translations, please ask first. Thanks.


End file.
